


our day will come

by wildcard_47



Series: from partridges to pear trees [12]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Ah Romance, Francis Is A Cute Dad, Going To The Chapel And We're, Gonna Start Cryyyyying, Great Proposals, M/M, is this a kissing fic?, to everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcard_47/pseuds/wildcard_47
Summary: Written for Day 12 of Carnivale, and the prompt: "Frozen Bois being happy, a “found family” dynamic, and Crozier being an absolute dad to the Terror officers."Feeling sentimental, Francis plans a Christmas surprise for James, Jopson, and several others.





	our day will come

**Author's Note:**

> For [graduatedpillowmonster](https://graduatedpillowmonster.tumblr.com) \- happy Carnivale!

_December 1_

  


The posh jewelry store closest to James’s tailor was dimly-lit by a thousand tiny floor lamps, and impossible to see in any detail – which was the first sign this could have been an ineffable mistake.

In the middle of the room, six long, velvet-lined glass cases featured prominently. They were each lit up from the inside and filled with enough baubles to choke a magpie stone dead. Every flat surface in the place, including the glass, was polished to absolute sheen.

There were no other customers in the shop. And, worst of all, there were no price tags in plain sight.

Pulling a face at the terrifying scene before him, Francis decided that darkening this doorstep was likely the worst mistake of all. Everyone was staring very closely at them, as if he was about to sprint past and attempt to rob the place blind. All the sales clerks wore gold tags with snobbish-sounding names like Freya and Michel and Leighton.

“We should go,” he mumbled quickly, but a small hand grabbed his jacket before he could turn.

“Come _on_ , Dad. You promised I could help look!”

Now at his right side, Alice fixed him with a patented Fitzjames glare of equal parts exasperation and fondness. That damned adorable look Francis could never say no to on either one of them. And since it was the first time all afternoon that James had stopped off in another store for more than eight seconds at a time – deeming Francis’s selection of dress shirts “sociopathic” – they only had a few minutes to spend here, anyway.

“All right.”

Slowly, they walked over to one of the cases; Alice immediately began pointing out the nearest candidates.

“I like the one with the gold. And this one. Ooh. That one, too.”

“‘M not getting him six rings, Al. Isn’t the bloody Olympics.”

Alice cackled out a wild laugh; one of the salesgirls glanced over in poorly-hidden disgust. “Right. Well, what about this one?”

Black and neon blue, for some godawful reason. Looked like a cockring. Not that he would _ever_ say those words to Alice in this lifetime or the next.

“Not pretty enough,” Francis told her instead. “Needs more sparkle.”

“Ooh, okay. I can work with that.” Just as she was raising her hand to point at another one, a flash of movement outside the window made her glance up and squeak in surprise. “Shit, Daddy’s at the cashier’s already! Move!”

“Jesus Christ,” Francis hissed, but they had bustled out the door in seconds. Once they hit the pavement, Alice practically dived down onto the nearest empty bench, which was where Fitzjames found them both once he’d exited the store with his bag: Alice now lounged across the bench like a sunning cat, and Francis standing there with his hands jammed in his pockets, looking either very lost or like a great Christmas market pervert.

“Where did you two go?” asked James as he donned his sunglasses.

“Place around the corner,” said Alice with a shrug. “They were out of the cupcake bath bombs.”

Francis was never very good at thinking on his feet, and jerked a thumb behind him, in the direction of the nearest coffee shop. “Ah. Toilet.”

“Right. Well. We need anything else?”

“No.” Francis nodded his head, tried not to cast any lingering looks at the stupid bloody jewelry store. “Let’s – be off before you change your mind.”

 

##

 

_December 3_

 

“Francis? Can I, ah, come in?”

Looking up in surprise – as Jopson never _asked_ permission to enter his office so much as knew when he didn’t want any bloody company – Francis nodded yes, and motioned to the chair across the desk.

“Course.”

“Well. I guess you can tell this is about something personal,” Jopson said as he closed the door, sat down, and placed his hands in his lap. Almost immediately, he sat forward again, and twisted his hands over the armrests, biting at his bottom lip. “It’s – you’ll probably think this is very odd, but I, ah. Wanted to know if I could have the fifteenth off. Friday before Christmas. Even though it comes before the holiday time I put in.”

“Jopson,” said Francis flatly, “after sixteen years working for me, you can have any day off you damn well please.”

Jopson flushed pink. “Thank you, sir. But I – this is for a, ah, special thing. Er.” Though it hardly seemed possible, he went even redder as he inhaled a rather deep breath. “I’m gonna ask Edward to marry me.”

Francis raised an eyebrow. “Who? Our Edward?”

Thankfully, this ridiculous old joke made Jopson laugh. “Obviously.”

“Long as you haven’t picked up any other Edwards between now and yesterday.”

It was the same way Francis had reacted when Jopson had shyly admitted he and Edward were seeing each other, and had asked if they needed to fill out anything official for their personnel files. Completely stunned, Francis had laughed until he’d wept, and then promptly sent his assistant off to lunch for a couple of hours – which at the time was as close to a blessing as anyone could get.

“Well, lad. Congratulations. I’d offer you champagne, but….”

“Seltzer water will do,” interrupted Jopson, with a nod at the cans lining the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

Immediately, Francis wheeled round in his chair, plucked two from the set, and slid Jopson’s over to him. Once they’d both popped the tabs open, they toasted.

“I assume,” said Francis after a few seconds of happy silence, “you’ve been planning this out for a while, yes?”

“Yes. Well. Rob – that’s his youngest brother – leaves for a new job in Germany right after the New Year, and since they’re all together at Christmas, I just thought it would be nice to – start the holiday off right.”

“Has a certain appeal, clearly.”

When Jopson caught his eye, probably identifying the note of mischief in Francis’s voice, Francis sighed, opened his middle drawer, and slid a thick piece of sketch paper across the tabletop. Covered in Blanky’s notes and ideas on jewelry design, plus a couple of added remarks from Esther.

“I’ve not yet figured out what I’m doing, to be honest,” Francis said in a low voice. “But I’m glad to know you’re making an honest man out of Edward at last. You’ll be a good husband to him. And he’s lucky to have you.”

“Oh, Captain,” breathed Jopson, who had now got visibly misty. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m not your Captain now, Thomas.” Francis gave the young man a fond look. “But perhaps I can help you shift things round, for once. Get Irving in here, see if he’ll take on the driving deliveries that day. Throw Edward off the scent.”

That night, as he and James were preparing for bed, Francis decided to admit his part in this little deception, so James could have something enjoyable to gossip over at last.

“Proposal?” James did not start crying or seem thrilled beyond measure for the two boys, as Francis imagined he might have done. Instead, he just looked sort of blank-eyed, either from shock or the lack of it. “Oh, er. That’ll be nice.”

“Daresay it’ll be more than just _nice_ , if Jopson’s planning it.”

“Yeah. You’re right, sorry.” James scrubbed at his face with both hands. “I’m only – we went through fifty pages today and I’m completely knackered.”

Well, that could be true enough. Only James was usually so excited to hear about other people being in love. It was why he’d been on PTA for a thousand years – forty percent ensuring Alice’s school didn’t fall apart at the seams, or whatever, and sixty percent gossiping with the head teacher and other parents about the kids’ horrifying social lives.

And although he never said so, Francis knew James treasured every tiny romantic gesture he’d ever managed to put together for the two of them. Like their fourth date at the theatre. Or that one birthday where Francis had rented out the planetarium. He’d probably quite given up on getting a romantic proposal like the ones he’d once adored in the movies.

“You always wanted a Christmas wedding as a boy, didn’t you?” he asked James, who by this point in time had already turned out his lamp and drawn up the comforter over his shoulder, and was curled up in a little ball by the edge of the mattress.

“Mmph. Double wedding with Hawkeye an’ Margaret. Married Jaclyn Smith. Why?”

“You’re half asleep,” Francis replied quietly, and turned off his own light before touching James’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you in the morning.”

Ring or no ring, he’d be damned if he let the holiday pass without at least asking the question.

 

##

 

First, he enlisted John Bridgens, who had reacted exactly as Francis had expected: first by cheering aloud, despite the fact that they were wedged into a crowded wine shop full of hurried Christmas shoppers, then by hugging him, and then by weeping quietly throughout Francis’s halting explanation of what he thought he wanted to plan.

“You could do it on Christmas Eve,” offered Bridgens, once they had fled the horrors of the cashier for a calmer, if equally crowded, cafe just down the street – and all parties present had stopped crying.

“Yeah, I’d thought about that. Just – not sure if he’d want to share the significance of the day with anything else.”

“Francis, I doubt he’d turn you down on account of it already being a holiday. You know how he gets about this time of year. And he’d adore anything you put together.”

A little girl in a Father Christmas-trimmed dress, red with white accents, kept toddling a small circle around the cafe as they talked; Francis caught a glimpse of her little curly dark head bobbing past the doorway every now and again. Reminded him a little of Alice, although the two looked nothing alike, and Francis had not met his daughter at that particular age. But the Fitzjames family did love Christmas; James more than anyone. Perhaps Bridgens was right; a proposal would have more significance coming on a holiday James already cherished.

“Maybe it should be that night, then.”

“I’m just so happy for you,” said Bridgens for the millionth time, and began dabbing at his eyes again. “Henry will be, as well.”

 

##

 

Next, Francis enlisted the bane of the banking industry – or at least the bane of the banking industry’s snack machine, at any rate.

“Let me get this straight,” said LeVesconte, who was tearing apart a piece of pre-packaged sweetbread with his fingers as he spoke. Coffee crumbs skittered everywhere around his wireless keyboard and into the floor. “You’re going to propose to my best mate over dinner on Christmas Eve, even though you don’t have a ring yet, you’ve not made restaurant reservations, you still can’t cook more than a box of pasta without heavy supervision, and you might even have conflicting plans that night.”

“Don’t think Episcopal mass really counts as conflicting plans,” Francis said after a moment, and scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Er.”

“I’m pulling your leg!” LeVesconte started to cackle. A few more sweetbread crumbs flew into the floor as he tapped the desk with an open hand. “Christ, Francis, you should’ve seen the terror on your face.”

“Oh, fucking hell, Henry! Don’t be such an arse!”

“No, all right. Honestly, I think Christmas Eve would be brilliant, but you’ve definitely got to work on the timing and the scenery and what not. Hmph.” He sucked crumbs from his fingers. “Told you the story about how I asked Meera, right?”

Francis made a suspicious face. “Didn’t you just roll off her, exhale, and blurt out: _all right, sweetheart, here’s a bit of a thought_ or something?”

“Essentially, yes.” Henry tossed another small piece into his mouth. “And because that darling woman still accepted my hideous proposal, and yet retains the memory of an eidetic android when it comes to future romantic overtures, I’m determined to help you avoid the same idiot fate.”

“Fine.” Francis let out a sigh, made a vague _put ‘em up_ motion with both hands as he pulled out the worn piece of sketch paper, now covered in several different types of handwriting. “Tell me what you think about this. I’ve been writing some ideas down.”

 

##

 

“Could get him a watch,” Francis said a few nights later, to no one in particular save his garage desk lamp and the back end of the Bandit. He was scrolling around on his phone, looking at some sort of Rolex that featured a moon phase display. It was also more expensive up front than anything else Francis had ever owned put together, including his bike. “Henry says some men are getting them as engagement presents now, if they don’t like rings.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you fuckin’ Irish loon,” came an aggrieved groan from beneath the car. “Just have a good go in the sack, shag his brains out, an’ then ask him!”

“Why the hell is everyone suggesting I propose to James directly after sex? At this rate, I may as well toss the goddamn gift at him while he’s shucking off his clothes, see if he’s got specific opinions on if the flowers should match the colors of our condoms.”

“Oi! Don’t knock a strategy if you e’nt tried it, eh?”

“You did _not_ ask Esther while wearing a bloody condom.”

“Surely did, Frankie boy! Well, bein’ accurate: she was ridin’ me harder’n a damn jockey, I told her I wanted to stay like that for the rest’ve our lives, and she said _then I s’pose you’d best fuck the daylights out’ve me, prove it’s really worth my while._ Got properly engaged ‘bout half an hour later. I’d already put a new rubber on and everything – plum forgot it was there! We got dressed, even!”

“Don’t ever fucking speak to me again,” growled Francis as the Yorkshireman laughed and laughed. Quickly, he tossed two blunted pencils down at the vague shadow of Blanky’s legs, which were still sticking out from the undercarriage of the car.

 

##

 

“Francis, prepare to be shocked, but you’re overthinking this,” Sophia told him on their usual Sunday walk through the park, as they turned left toward the largest willow tree. The breeze off the lake was cold for this time of year, although with Francis’s new camel coat and scarf he felt it only bracing instead of horrifying. “James may be a bit dramatic, but when it comes down to it, he won’t need a flash mob or a parade as proof you want to marry him.”

“Yeah, but I – there’s got to be some kind of special excitement, obviously. It can’t just be _I wrote my arse off all month and then we went to church on Christmas Eve and Francis said a stupid thing in the car on the way home and now we’re engaged, end of story._ ”

“Hmm. Well, are you proposing inside the church, or outside it?”

Francis stopped walking; one boot screeched loudly on a scree of gravel as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Haven’t really decided. Why?”

“Well.” Sophia gave a light shrug, walked back toward him. “Think you should incorporate more of his personality into the location, if you can. Make it personal, right? I mean, hasn’t James gone to that church for a long time?”

“Since before he and Edward filed for partnership, yeah.”

“All right, then. What else has happened there?”

“Erm. Their wedding. Alice’s christening. Few other things. Mostly just pictures of James standing at the head of the – ” Francis trailed off, mid-sentence, then turned to stare at Sophia with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Good god, woman.”

“See what I mean?” she asked sweetly.

He let out a hoarse whistle. “You’re a bloody genius, is what you are.”

She just laughed. “Here’s what I would do if I were you. I’d get some old pictures or favourite objects together. Sort of revisit everything you’ve done up to that point. Have him stop every so often so you can go over the big things that have happened before you start talking about the one to come.”

Francis pursed his lips, thought backwards for a moment. “Is this why you spent so much time asking me about the bloody Christmas decorations?”

Still snickering, Sophia rolled her eyes, then beckoned for him to start walking again. “Come on, you dim thing. Let’s finish the loop and go get some hot chocolate.”

 

##

 

_December 13_

 

“Look, Francis, I know you asked John to do the deliveries all Friday, but he’s already got ten extra trips as is. There’s no reason I can’t pitch in, help with this one, eh?”

“Edward,” Francis hissed, trying not to lose his temper with the man, as it was not Little’s fault he was trying to throw himself on his sword at the most inconvenient possible time. “You are not driving to bloody _Birmingham_ at Friday lunch just because John’s got two deliveries out in Surrey before eleven.”

“Why not? He’ll barely be back in time to drink a glass of water before going on the next one! There’s no reason I shouldn’t help pull my weight like always! I’ve not got any sales calls that day, either. I can help. I’m really not busy.”

Out in the lobby, Francis could practically hear Jopson’s teeth cracking like twigs under the stress. To resolve some of this frustration, he hit the intercom button.

“Get Irving in here, would you?”

Five minutes later, Irving and Little stood in front of him as the argument continued.

“Sir, I really think you’re being too hard on John,” Edward kept insisting, as if suddenly his highest priority was the mental health and/or general happiness of one of his coworkers. “He’ll be out all night if you put all of these on his plate instead of dividing the load.”

“As I said before, we’re not changing the goddamn schedule!” Francis snapped. Instantly, he regretted being such an arse, and tried to gentle his tone. “Edward, I understand you’re worried for John, but he’s a big lad, and he’s not taken on anything he doesn’t want to. Now trust me when I tell you there isn’t another bloody way to do this.”

Jopson was still hovering near the door. “Sir…”

“Could Thomas help, then?” asked Edward with a tense glance at his partner. “If keeping the schedules as they are is that important?”

 _“No,”_ Francis jabbed at the air with his index finger. “No. He’s already busy, so don’t you dare bother him.”

“Busy doing _what_ ?” groused Edward, in a voice that was more suited to one of Alice’s whinging temper tantrums than it was to a thirtysomething chap with a mortgage and a print subscription to _National Geographic._

“Personal things!” retorted Francis with a groan of desperation. “Bleeding Christ, you idiot, it – do you really want to know why he can’t help?”

“Francis,” said Jopson very tightly.

“Yes, Thomas, I hear you, now shut up!” Francis sat back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. A cluster headache was threatening to develop in his temples. “Thomas can’t help ‘cause he’s doing errands for me that day. I’m – arranging a surprise for James, Christmas Eve. Proposal. So.”

In the doorway, now silent and very pale, Jopson was still wide-eyed with fright, although he had begun to relax very slightly.

“Really?” asked Edward, casting a careful look at Irving before meeting Francis’s eyes again. “You’re asking James?”

“Yes! And why the bloody hell does that surprise so many people?”

Next to Edward, John had already lit up like a damn Christmas tree, as Francis had known he would. “Goodness, how marvelous. A marriage proposal in the house of the Lord.”

“Yeah,” huffed Francis, as he couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete arse. “It’ll be, ah, in the sanctuary.”

“Do you need help arranging a bit of privacy, then? I mean, I’m sure you’ve taken care of most of the details by now, but if you’d like help keeping people out of the narthex, I do know the priest in that parish. St. Mary’s, isn’t it? Sure he’d be glad to assist.”

Wide eyed, and rather shocked that this gambit had actually revealed something very useful, Francis met Jopson’s surprised gaze with a knowing expression. “You know what, yeah. That’s – that would be very helpful, thanks.”

“Write down the number,” Jopson said from the door.

“Anyway.” Francis sighed, and gave both Little and Irving a glance that said _not another fucking word._ “I trust the two of you can hack a bit of hard work for a couple more days, yes?”

“Yes,” sighed the two salesmen after a pause.

“Good.”

 

##

 

The final co-conspirator was recruited into this scheme four days before Christmas, over two enormous bowls of Coco Pops that were currently serving as dinner.

“Oh my _god,_ Dad!” The long squeal that emerged from Alice’s mouth was nothing short of supersonic. She dropped her spoon into her bowl, covered her lower face with two hands, and began to hop up and down in her chair although she was still, ostensibly, sitting in it. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my _god_!”

“Steady on, Al.” Francis could not help smiling. Reminded him of the first time they met whenever she got excited like this. “Half the street’ll hear you at this rate!”

“I’m sorry.” Now whispering, she lowered her hands, showcasing a brilliant and now-very-manic grin. “He’s gonna be _so_ surprised!”

“For once in his life, yes, so you’d best not tell him a bloody thing, eh?” Francis tapped her slippered foot with one of his, laughing slightly now. “Look, I’ll need your help with a few little tasks before the day. Pictures. Errands.”

“You’ve got the church, right?”

“Yes, all that’s taken care of. Only thing left is to put together a few keepsakes. I’ve made a list of things I still need, so you can have that for reference if it helps.”

“Nobody wants your disgusting old paper,” Alice said dryly. “It’s the twenty teens, Dad. Send me a bloody email.”

“Don’t curse,” Francis replied on the edge of a laugh. “It’s not becoming for a young lady.”

“I’m not a lady and you frigging know it,” retorted his daughter as she went back to her Coco Pops.

“Oh, good Christ,” came a voice from the doorway, as James peered into the open pantry, emerged, and then stared at Francis and Alice with abject pity on his face. “Cereal for dinner again?”

“Got tired of mac and cheese,” was all Alice said, mouth still full of soggy rice pieces.

“I really should start freezing meals for you two in the editing months. You’ll get scurvy at this rate.”

“James, you can hardly hold yourself up at the stove,” Francis pointed out, as his partner was currently standing at the kitchen counter, propped up only by one elbow and the vaguest dregs of the coffee he’d had earlier that day. Looked like he could fall asleep standing up as much as anything. “We’ll be fine.”

“Bridgens insists we have to be done with the manuscript by Christmas Eve,” sighed James now, and sagged down into the side of the cabinet till he was practically bent over at the waist and lying fully across the kitchen counter. “He’s being a complete tyrant, and I’ve no idea why.” With a yawn. “God, I’m so bloody tired.”

“Here,” said Francis, pretending not to see Alice’s twinkling, very innocent gaze as he got up from the table and abandoned his cereal to the wolves. “Let’s get you into pajamas, then.”

 

##

 

_10 am, Christmas Eve_

 

Settled on the sofa watching Christmas movies, the door opened so quickly James barely had a chance to spy Tom Blanky out on the stoop before he disappeared again, and Francis padded back into the living room in his slippers and housecoat.

“Why’s Tom coming over on Christmas Eve?”

Francis made a noise that said either he didn’t know or it wasn’t important. “Dropped off my gift is all.”

“He got you a gift?”

“Already got him eight bloody gifts for Hanukkah, so yeah. Why?”

God, if Francis was going to spend Christmas in a complete strop, James was going to have to spend a fair amount of time decompressing in the kitchen as a result.

“All right,” he said slowly, and put both hands in the air in a motion of surrender. “No reason. Just asking.”

 

_3pm_

 

Emerging from the living room with the folded clothes in a basket on his hip, James suppressed another yawn as he went into the bedroom, and deposited the laundry onto the ground next to the dresser.

Francis, still deep in his latest novel, barely glanced up from the pages. “You have a good nap, then?”

“Eh,” said James, although in truth he’d slept on the sofa for something like three hours, and felt completely disoriented now. “It was all right. Anyway, your grinchy sweater’s folded and ready for the service.”

“Not wearing it this year.” Francis turned a page in his book. “But thanks.”

“You’re not – but it’s – tradition.”

From the first year they’d done Christmas together, Francis had sworn that if he was going to be dragged to church on a bi-annual basis, he was surely going to wear the ugliest holiday sweater to compensate for such folly.

A short, brief huff of laughter. “Apparently Alice wants us to look smart, so bugger tradition. Just told me earlier.”

Jesus God. And when was James going to find out about this? There was… he had nothing to wear. Everything he’d have picked for a smart Christmas theme was either at the dry cleaners or possibly even in a wrinkled pile in a trunk somewhere.

“What the hell am I supposed to wear, then?” he demanded.

“Suit’s on the back of the door.”

“It – what?”

Walking over to the closet, and peering behind the half-open door, James found his favourite tuxedo was pressed and ready to go, still in its dry cleaning bag. And back in the bedroom, on the dresser he’d just been staring at, was the shoebox with the pair of slippers he’d usually wear with it.

Puzzled, and now fairly awake, he glanced back to Francis, who was observing all of this with a strange amount of interest.

“Is there something going on afterward?” James asked, in a vain attempt to discover what he had missed while he was sleeping. Earlier in the week, Francis had kept going on about Jopson’s elaborate engagement plans, and the apparent hilarity of knowing Thomas and Edward had proposed to each other at the same time. “Are we having a party for Jopson?”

The smile that came to Francis’s face was positively enormous; he nearly started giggling with poorly-concealed glee. “Something like that.”

“Right,” said James, and blinked. Good thing he’d got up when he did. He’d have just enough time to fix his hair. “Suppose I ought to shower, then.”

“Probably.”

 

_4:05 pm_

 

“Come on, get out of the car.” Wearing his beautiful blue shawl-collar tuxedo, Francis bounded out of the driver’s seat, and promptly shooed Alice – in a beautiful black and red satin gown –  out onto the concrete. Immediately, she started running through the garage and toward the back of the church, not even stopping to wait for either parent.

“What on earth is the hurry?” James asked, adjusting his coat and scarf as he shut the door, and they began hurrying toward the church. “Think we’re the only ones in the deck, to be honest.”

“You know Christmas. Everyone’s probably – taking up seats already. Might even be late, to be honest.”

“Late? Good God! It is _four. oh. five._ ”

Francis waved a dismissive hand as they passed out into the winter sunshine. Now on the pavement, he was currently walking so quickly James had to lengthen his strides to keep up. “Whatever. Let’s just – get inside, I’ve had too much coffee already.”

Finally – a normal explanation for why they were rushing around like rats in a maze with nearly an hour to go until Mass!

“All right, all right. Go on, then. I’ll just – stay out here for a moment.”

Taking out his phone once they reached the front doors, James frowned when he saw he still had no new messages. Usually he’d at least have heard from Bridgens and Peglar by now, or Henry, or even Goodsir – but today, nothing. It was starting to unnerve him.

 _Francis is in a damned tizzy today,_ he texted Henry, in hopes of getting back a sympathetic message or even a witty GIF.

Tragically, no response. He had already loaded his email several times and scrolled back through old messages when John Irving poked his head out of the front doors.

“Oh, James! Hello. Won’t you come in?”

“Irving! Happy Christmas to you.” Thrilled to see a friendly face at last, James gladly followed the man through the double doors and into the entrance hall. But when he saw the four people waiting outside the ornate mahogany and stained glass doors of the sanctuary, he stopped short.

Smiling broadly, standing from tallest to shortest across the doors as if they were all ushers in a wedding, were Jopson, Edward, Blanky, and Sophia, wearing their best suits – or in Sophia’s case, a simple black dress with a black and white bow. Blanky was leaning on an elegant gold and black walking stick that James had never seen before.

“What’s – going on?” he asked slowly.

Jopson was grinning ear-to-ear, and handed him a small unwrapped jewelry box, about the size for a long necklace or perhaps a watch.

“We’re taking you back in time,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Sophia, and then Edward. “Ready?”

With one open hand, she tapped on the closed door twice. Immediately, someone rapped back, and the four friends parted like the Red Sea, with Sophia and Edward pulling open the doors to reveal one Alice Fitzjames standing there, amid a sea of evergreen garlands hung high in the rafters, plus a sea of white and gold bows strewn across the end of the pews.

“Hello, Daddy.”

“Hello,” said James in surprise, raising an eyebrow at her formal greeting. “How long have you been in on this?”

“Open the box,” she urged, and flapped her hands in an impatient way.

Prying off the lid, which was not taped or secured on in any way, James found a little girl’s blonde braid lying inside on the bed of velvet.

“Ah,” he said, and touched the little plaited strands with one finger. “I remember you.”

Closing his hand around the box, and taking him by one wrist, Alice pulled him further down the aisle. “Remember the first time we had Dad over for dinner?”

“I do,” said James, a little surprised. “Do you?”

Alice nodded her head yes. “We laughed a lot because he made funny faces with the pizza. And you took a picture on your old phone.”

Plucking a silver photo frame from one of the pews as they walked, she handed this to James. It was a selfie of him, Francis, and Alice, with several open pizza boxes in the background. Although Francis’s smile was small and rather shy, it was clear he was having a good time, particularly as Alice was snuggled up against his shoulder.

“I didn’t even know you had this,” James said after a moment, swallowing the lump that had now formed in his throat.

Before he could ask any other questions, a side door opened, and Henry stepped out, wearing a similar suit to all the others, and carrying a single box. He had some sort of grease under his chin from whatever he’d been eating earlier, which James pointed out with a wordless snicker.

“So this is why you don’t answer my texts, you mongrel.”

“Yeah, well.” He swiped at his face with the back of his palm, then spread both hands in a shrug. “What can I say, eh?”

“Let me guess: you’ve got something for me, too.”

“I do.” Stepping forward into the aisle, and sending Alice away to her position by the back doors, Henry handed James a small silver cigarette case. “Think of the last time we stood up here, eh?”

Opening the lid, James was shocked to see two pairs of vintage cufflinks inside, buffed to full sheen: one set bore his own initials, with the J and F threaded together in beautiful white script against black enamel, while the other featured elegant looped letters – E and C. Their wedding present to each other for the civil ceremony.

“I thought we buried this set with him?”

“Not this one.” Seeing James was fully choked up, Henry clapped him on the shoulder. “Before he passed, he made me swear if you married again, or got anywhere close, you’d have them back so you could wear them all over again.”

“Oh, my god,” breathed James, and covered his mouth with one hand.

“Ah. Edward always knew you were a romantic,” said Henry, who urged them to start walking as he talked. “And he never wanted you to be alone because of him. Loved you a lot. Thought you deserved the world.”

“Mm.” James could hardly speak, and clenched his jaw to keep from breaking down completely. “‘S true.”

They were at the top of the aisle, just near the altar stairs and the stage behind. With a knowing smile, Henry gestured across the church to the small nave door.

Whirling to one side, James fully expected to see Francis standing framed in the doorway, as picturesque as if they were genuinely getting married this very moment.

Instead, two children dressed as an angel and a Wise Man darted through a crack in the half-open door. And suddenly Francis was rushing into the sanctuary and up the altar stairs in a panic, crouching down in order to pick up the little angel – no older than two or three – before she could crawl under the tree or into some small corner.

“No, no, no – this isn’t – we’re not the pageant rehearsal!” Quickly whisking the tiny one out into the hallway, Francis motioned for the Wise Man to come back outside. “Get back here! Mrs. – whoever – will take you.”

After a small pause, the Wise Man tilted her head in consideration, and raced back to the doors, pushing past Francis and sprinting further back into the church.

“I’ll see if my kids can wrangle the insanity for a bit,” said Henry with a loud laugh, as Francis sheepishly let himself back into the sanctuary and walked up to stand in front of the altar, his face now blazing a bright red.

James waited until Henry had departed and the doors had shut to walk closer to Francis. He still had Alice’s little box with the braid in it stored in one trouser pocket, while Edward’s wedding cufflinks were tucked safely into his breast pocket.

“How did you do this?” he finally asked.

Still blushing, Francis ducked his head on a smile. “Well. Had a bit of help.” Clearing his throat, he raised his voice. “Er, John?”

Peering around the same door that Henry had just exited through, Bridgens ducked backwards and then appeared with Peglar in tow. Peglar held an old book in the crook of one arm, which he immediately passed to Francis.

“Feel like I’m on a damn game show,” James commented with a tearful look at Bridgens, who just waved, and swiped at his face with a handkerchief as they turned to leave.

“Well. Not exactly a scavenger hunt,” said Francis as Bridgens and Peglar disappeared back into the outer hallway. “Hope you’ve spotted the grand prize by now.”

“Francis, I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

And James did weep a bit, now, completely overwhelmed by the amount of effort his partner had clearly gone to, and counting back all the days in his mind. How long had he been planning this? What other signs had James missed because he was so distracted?

“You know why,” Francis said, gently removing James’s hands from his face and pressing the closed book into both of them. “Erm. Although I’m not very good at giving speeches, I did – write you one. Tried to, at any rate.”

“You don’t have to make a speech, love.” James squeezed Francis’s shaking fingers. “Say anything you like. I don’t give a damn.”

“Yeah.” Francis’s voice wobbled. “Well. I know this place is special to you. It’s where you and Edward married. Where you christened Alice. And I just thought – ”

“Oh, Christ.” James began to sob in earnest as Francis let go of one hand and pulled a small hinged wooden box out of his jacket pocket. “Francis, yes. Yes.”

Smiling despite the tears, Francis stuttered out a wet little hiccup of a laugh before he could speak again. “Let me ask the question first.”

“Shit,” hissed James through another sob. “God, I’m sorry. I just – ”

“I know.” Francis squeezed James’s hand. “I know, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, he opened the box, revealing a beautiful white-gold ring. The band was interwoven into a Celtic knot design. Inlaid between each knot were several heart-shaped sapphires, while the top and bottom of the band sparkled with pave diamonds.

“Blanky and Esther made it,” Francis told him shyly, as if he were making some sort of pedestrian statement about the weather instead of a jaw-droppingly romantic gesture. “And the box, too. They, ah, both worked a bit of overtime, really. Well. We all did.”

“Christ,” said James again. His hand shook as he went to touch the barest edge of the ring with one fingertip. “Francis, I – this is so beautiful.”

“You deserve it, James,” Francis said in a low voice. “You know I love you and Alice. So much. What we’ve built together. And I, ah, just want you to take all of those brilliant things forward into the future, if – ” he cleared his throat “ – if you’ll have me.”

“Oh my god, ask me the bloody question already so I can say yes! I want to put it on!”

Francis laughed aloud. Two tears dropped from his bright eyes, and he sniffed loudly before speaking again. “Right. Well. Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Good Christ, yes. In a goddamn instant,” James blurted out in a rush, wrapping Francis into a tight hug for several seconds before tilting his face up with both hands and kissing him in earnest, clutching the Irishman as close as possible. This rather desperate embrace likely would have escalated into something far too passionate for their location had Francis not squeaked against his mouth, and pulled back, with a stunned but knowing gleam in his eyes.

And then the penny dropped for James. “Oh, shit. We’re in church.”

“Obviously, yes,” drawled Francis with a loud bellow of a laugh, as he fumbled the ring onto James’s third finger, and put away the box into his jacket again before offering James his hand. “And we’re keeping a bunch of Christmas parishioners out of the pews, so let’s go before Irving and the church secretary kill us.”

Hand in hand, they quickly rushed down the opposite aisle and back to the main entrance, where Blanky, Sophia, Thomas and Edward, Bridgens and Peglar, and Henry were all milling around the main foyer, sitting or standing in various slumped positions. Alice was nowhere to be seen yet; probably got bored and wandered back to find Meghan and the others.

“Well?” demanded Blanky.

“I said yes!” announced James, to a round of delighted cheers. Dutifully, he held up his hand and showed them the ring. “Hang on a tic. We have to get one last thing out of the car before celebrating.”

Francis seemed confused by this announcement till they had actually got back to the car, and James pushed him up against the passenger side door without another word, covering Francis’s mouth with his and delighting in his fiancee’s low groan as the Irishman slumped backwards against the bright metal.

“Bloody awful liar,” Francis whispered between kisses, now shaking in James’s arms. “You only wanted to shag me, and they all know it.”

“Well, it’s our _engagement_ , Francis. They can damn well wait till we’ve finished,” James whispered back.

A passing car honked at them as it rolled by in search of an open parking spot, startling them both upright before it turned the corner.

Locking eyes, they began to giggle all over again.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I attempted to write a completely different fluffy Christmas fic for you and then got stuck. So hopefully you enjoy this one! I headcanon Esther has some sort of Etsy jewelry shop and she and Blanky are always tinkering around with metal on the weekends when he's not at the garage. 
> 
> James's engagement ring probably looks like [this](https://www.etsy.com/listing/482959183/blue-sapphire-celtic-heart-knot-wedding?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_a-jewelry-rings-wedding_and_engagement-wedding_bands&utm_custom1=49b3fc38-b36d-4704-a3f9-75300f48c507&utm_content=go_270950435_45568779274_196481762618_aud-537409439012:pla-316058551831_c__482959183&gclid=CjwKCAiAx4fhBRB6EiwA3cV4Kp6At9KFyHQzLA20TyEFPQ1Ba42A0FkOuWb734H95JjDCVPXfsHOvxoCFFEQAvD_BwE) only it's a million times blingier. Also, I 100% want [this watch.](https://www.rolex.com/watches/cellini/m50535-0002.html)


End file.
